


thy bed of roses

by aw marvel no (getoffmysheets)



Series: all the pleasures prove [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Birthday Sex, Body Worship, Bucky is a big dumb idiot who just wants to be good to his Stevie, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Filthy, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve is a smol tsundere who just wants to be sweet to his Buck, shrinkyclinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-08-29 03:32:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16736289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getoffmysheets/pseuds/aw%20marvel%20no
Summary: "If he laughs, I'm gonna break his jaw."





	thy bed of roses

**Author's Note:**

> Remember when I said Chapter 6 of all the pleasures actually had a whole separate story attached to it? 
> 
> You're welcome.

March 2018

Bucky didn’t really ask for anything. Bucky could be almost eerily attentive to Steve’s needs and was excited to make Steve happy anyway he could. Anything Steve wanted, Steve got when Bucky was around (and some things he didn’t want, like a verbal rant whenever he got himself beaten up because Bucky was never going to be okay with that). Bucky was basically the perfect boyfriend and Steve was kind of losing his mind over figuring out what to get him for his birthday. (It didn’t help that the only other holiday they’d spent together, the winter holidays, was an absolute shitshow – despite a good ending.)

 

He spent so much time trying to make  _Steve_  happy that Steve wanted a gift that was just for him, to please his big teddy bear anyway he could think of.

 

The obvious answer was to give Bucky, well…himself, because at this point, Steve could say without any hubris that there was nothing that made Bucky happier than Steve, and Natasha agreed with this sentiment. “Give him you.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes. “But he already has me, Natasha. As many times a night as he likes, if you have to know.” He frowns. “I assume you were referring to sex, right?”

 

“Well, yes, but if you’re ready to pop the question, please don’t let me stop you,” Natasha says with a sly smile. “I had assumed you were more cautious –  _emotionally_  cautious – than that. You probably won’t have done what I have in mind, though. Well…no, I’m sure I would’ve noticed him looking  _that_  delirious.”

 

Steve scowls and hisses “God damn it, I knew he was getting bored! I told him-” he shuts his mouth with a clack of teeth and sighs, covering his face. “Well, what is it, then? Diaper fetish? Japanese rope bondage? Some kind of roleplay?”

 

Natasha stares at him. “He really hasn’t told you? I thought he would’ve at least mentioned that he was interested. I have to admit that you’re…well suited to it. James really likes…pretty boys.”

 

He raises an eyebrow. “We’ll assume I’m comfortable enough with my masculinity to accept that as a compliment rather than a criticism.”

 

Natasha grimaces. “Yes, well, perhaps you should hold onto that comfort, Steve.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“With your masculinity, Steve. Because James loves a pretty man in a dress.”

 

It’s a little startling, because Steve draws away from the table a little bit and narrows his eyes at her in a rather disconcertingly dark stare. Fierce and sharp as needles, like the jaws of a wildcat, and it makes Natasha internally freeze without any outward indication of doing so. If they were animals with ears, Steve’s would be laying flat right now and Natasha’s would be tensed straight up.

 

“Natasha, is that a joke?” He doesn’t swear at her, and he doesn’t raise his voice and that almost makes it worse. Another person may not have noticed, but Natasha’s native situational awareness has always been high, before she even became an agent. The quiet venom just edging his tone makes ice-cold fingers of some long-forgotten fear skate up her spine.

 

He is so skilled at appearing ordinary that even when they know who he is, they still manage to forget. More and more, Natasha realizes that the true beauty of this disguise is that both versions are true. Steve is a normal civilian with normal hobbies and a fairly normal job. Steve also, as he confessed during a long night of not sleeping after he caught the flu, once stabbed a man through the eye without hesitation and had to yank it back out of the socket by bracing his foot against the corpse’s chest and pulling with all his might.

 

Both of those people were the real Steve Rogers, even if one was more appealing to the average person than the other. Delta were not average people. She carefully licks the foam from her cappuccino from her upper lip. “Nope, I’m afraid not.” She can still recall the look in James’ eye as he’d rubbed his fingers together. “James is very…tactical, as I’m sure you’re aware. He enjoys the fabric. Velvet, silk, lace. And he likes pretty things. You’re pretty, dresses are pretty, ergo…”

 

Steve sighs, face drawing into resignation. “Alright. Tell me what I should do.”

 

Natasha smiles gently. “Don’t worry, Peggy’s already told me that you’re a lost soul when it comes to fashion. Just leave everything to me.”

\---

It takes her a solid week of searching for her to find a suitable garment for him and even then, Natasha has to have Clint help her modify it, sketching out multiple ideas before they finally settled on what they wanted. She draws and cuts for another three days and Clint spends the last night frantically completing the last of the sewing.

 

The appearance of the dress is vitally important, because not only is it kind of the major part of James’ gift, Natasha knows that if she picks incorrectly, Steve will either refuse to wear it or put it on and give himself an anxiety attack.

 

Natasha does not want to induce that humiliation that comes with feeling you’re making a fool of yourself. She also didn’t want anything too glamorous or overly sexy because that doesn’t fit Steve’s style or personality. This is not about Steve in a dress so much as it is Steve  _dressed up_. She believes James will appreciate it more this way as well, the subtle tease of the body he worships hidden beneath fabric deemed fine enough to touch it.

 

“You told  _Clint_?”

 

“ _Of course_  I told Clint!” she says, appalled. “I don’t lie to my husband! Who do you think did all the extra sewing? _I_  can’t sew silk by hand, Steve!”

 

It must not work quite as well as she hoped because Steve stares at himself in the mirror and she can see him clenching his teeth.

 

It’s vintage and originally the length was awkward for his height, so Clint decided to pull the hemline up a few inches and Natasha got rid of the old-fashioned bib-style collar in favor of showing off his long pale neck and the sharp wings of his clavicles. She was also the one who’d added the pearl buttons going down the back – Clint had to modify the chest area for a wearer who did not and would never have breasts to fill it out and halfway through finishing that, he’d realized that meant either he would have to sew Steve into the dress or they’d need to add a closure of some kind. Sex frantic James with a zipper sounded like a terrible idea and Natasha thought the buttons looked more elegant.

 

“Natasha I’m sorry, but if he laughs, I’m gonna break his jaw,” Steve vows, nostrils flaring. His fists tighten and relax at his sides.

 

“He isn’t going to laugh,” she says calmly, nimble fingers slipping each tiny pearl button through their equally tiny loops. The dress is robin’s egg blue silk, with long sleeves, and Clint tailored it perfectly to him – it hugs his slender frame like a lover until around hip-height, flowing loosely around his knees.

 

“But he might lose his mind,” Clint adds, trying to get Lucky clipped to his leash while the retriever bounces around and trips him. “Just, you know, fair warning.”

 

Steve shifts nervously, legs rubbing together at the strange almost sensual sensation of the nylon on his bare skin. She hasn’t dared to ask what or how much Steve is wearing beneath the garment. She’d quietly given him suggestions on places he could shop if he chose to and left him to sort out the undergarments on his own.

 

Natasha gently dabs cologne at his wrists. She meets Steve’s eyes in the mirror. That he’s is letting them see how nervous he is to begin with is trust in itself. That more than anything reassures her that he’ll be okay. If Steve was truly uneasy about this, she’s certain he would be as cool and remote as a distant lake. She squeezes his shoulders and smooths her hands down the blue silk of his sleeves before handing him the lip gloss. “You look beautiful.”

 

Steve swipes the gloss over his mouth, his pink mouth shining, and eyes his own reflection critically. “Shouldn’t there be…more, I guess? I don’t look like a girl. I look like me in a dress. I’m not even wearing make-up.”

 

Surprisingly, it’s actually Clint who answers. “You’re not supposed to,” he says, slipping their water bottles into Natasha’s purse. “Have you got the-?”

 

She hands Clint the car keys and says “That’s exactly what we want. In your case, the point isn’t to make you into a woman, it’s just enhancing some of your best features. The gloss isn’t tinted, it’s just going to make your mouth look shiny.” Quietly she adds “It’s a good present, and I do think James will love it, but if this really makes you uncomfortable, he wouldn’t want you to do this, Steve.”

 

Steve does another reflexive clench of his teeth and sighs. “Sorry. It’s just that…my whole life has been people telling me I’m not much of a man and now I’m…”

 

He gestures at himself in the mirror, the old-fashioned blue silk with its pearl buttons down the back and the high neck framing his throat. Natasha now feels dumb that she and Clint had spent last night worrying about how the dress turned out.  _Clint is right_ , Natasha thinks.  _Any sane person would lose their mind if they came home to this. James will climb the walls when he sees him._

 

“Clint paints his fingernails and his favorite color is purple. If I weren’t a married woman, I’d consider having you to myself in this outfit.” She raises her eyebrow at him pointedly. “But from what I’ve heard, you’re  _too much_  man for me, Steven.”

 

She smiles at his blush. “Bucky told you about that?”

 

“Mm, no, but I know what he likes – and the teeth marks across his shoulders aren’t exactly subtle.” She kisses his cheek. “Time for us to go. Have fun – and try not to turn James into a blithering idiot. Not on a permanent basis, anyway."

 

Clint nods. "I can pretty much guarantee he's gonna think you're hotter than a fresh fucked fox in a forest fire. I'll leave you Lucky's spray bottle just in case." 

 

He rolls his eyes and gives them both a hug before they stomp off to board their flight to Vegas, Lucky and Liho in tow.

 

 _Poor boy_ , Natasha sighs to herself.  _He thinks we're joking!_

\---

Despite smelling like a vodka still, Bucky bounds up the back staircase in a few excited leaps. Natasha and Clint said their goodbyes on the way out the door, leaving early to catch the 8 o’clock flight to Vegas, and Steve promised he would come over when Bucky finished closing up the kitchen. Normally, he wouldn’t have worked his own birthday, but Saturdays are not optional in the restaurant business.

 

He’ll take a quick shower first, and maybe brush his teeth before Steve comes over. He let the closing staff have several shots of the  _vișinata_  brewing in the closet and now his breath likely tastes of the sweet cherry liquor. He’ll light the candles and play smooth jazz and swing, just like their first date.

 

Opening the door, Bucky frowns because the lights are still on in the living room. Clint is forgetful, so this is not entirely uncommon, but it’s a waste of money to light a room no one…is…in…

 

The moment Bucky sees him, he’s gone. Every limb turns to jelly at the sight in front of him and he drops to his knees as Steve gives him a hesitant smile.

 

“Happy birthday, Buck.”

 

Nerves make Steve’s voice raspy as a cat’s tongue, and Bucky shudders at the sound, hot-cold goosebumps prickling through his skin, staring up at Steve with stunned, glazed eyes, mouth dropping open in awe.

 

There are no words.

 

There are literally no words left inside his head. Bucky is grateful that a sudden emergency did not occur just then because Steve has managed to make him the dumbest man alive in twenty seconds.

 

Flushed and so fucking pretty in all that blue silk, Steve bites his lower lip, so pink and full, and actually has the audacity to ask him “Do-do you like it, Buck?”

 

“ _Dragule_ ,” he whispers hoarsely, reaching out to catch both tiny hips. From his knees, he is looking up into those starry blues eyes, the blush in his pretty doll-face, and says, “Jesus Christ, how are you even real right now?  _Do I like it?!_  Stevie…babydoll…you’re the most beautiful thing I ever  _seen_.”

 

His sweet babydoll is so red, all embarrassed, but Bucky means every word. He always does. He nuzzles the layer of silk covering Steve’s flat stomach. The dress is nearly as beautiful as his little darling. Bucky wants to spend hours worshipping him right here on this fucking floor.

 

He skims a hand up one slender thigh, his breath hitching at each inch of smooth silk stockings. Steve puts a trembling hand on his shoulder to hold himself up and Bucky husks “Baby, you better tell me where you want me before I get some ideas of my own, ‘cause I could just have you right here.” Steve gasps loudly as Bucky nuzzles down to his crotch, humming in delight to find that  _Zvezdochka_  is already hard beneath the folds of the skirt. “Mm, you have something for me now?”

 

“Th-the bedroom.” Steve pushes his head away gently. “Bucky, you can’t – you can’t suck me off in the hallway-!”

 

Disappointed but eager, Bucky happily stumbles down the hall, letting Steve lead him by the hand. He is entirely in Steve’s hands, easily falling to the mattress when he pushes Bucky down. “I want…” Steve murmurs, mouthing at his throat and chest as he pulls his shirt open. “…what’s mine, Buck.”

 

Still dazed and the most turned-on he’s ever been in his life, Bucky gropes whatever body part is closest, slurring “’course, baby.”

 

Kissing down his chest, Steve says “You treat me so well, Buck. But you’ve been keeping something from me, sweetheart, and I want what’s mine.”

 

“I…what?” Bucky opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling in shock. Has he…has he not given Steve he wanted? Has he somehow disappointed him?

 

Then Steve unzips the front of his jeans and breathes, hot and damp, over his twitching cock, dropping Bucky’s pants and boxers to the floor. “You have your mouth on me every chance you get, but you’re so damn impatient, I barely get to touch you,” Steve says seriously, running his sweet pink lips down the trail of dark hair leading to Bucky’s dick. Pleased, he rubs his lips over the veins, his hand curling around the base possessively. “I thought you said this was mine?”

 

A bit dumbfounded, Bucky realizes that this is true. They’ve been together for three months and while they don’t have sex  _every day_  or even every time they see each other (since they both basically own their own businesses and they don’t live together), when they do, Bucky can’t get Steve out of his clothes fast enough, and Steve is often so overwhelmed by the attention he can hardly think straight.

 

Bucky doesn’t feel particularly put out that he hasn’t gotten a blow job this entire time, but apparently that’s a thing Steve feels very strongly about doing. Brushing Steve’s bangs away from his face, he says “It is,  _dragule_.”

 

He chokes on air as Steve flicks out his tongue, tracing up the vein with firm wet glide. The moment Steve’s lips close over the plump, curved head of his cock, Bucky begins whimpering “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck” and his hands gather fistfuls of the sheets beneath him.

 

Steve probably should’ve prepared him for the experience better.

 

Oral sex was the thing he did when he needed a partner or target to be as insensible as possible while keeping his own facilities. He doesn’t generally enjoy it. In fact, just like most things about sex, he doesn’t really have a strong feeling about the activity one way or another. And just like everything else about sex, Bucky seems to illicit more enthusiasm than he’s ever expected.

 

He’s used to suppressing things he wants – not necessarily sexual – but whatever he’s tried to ignore will often come back to him later. A thing he’s been longing for will suddenly begin appearing when he dreams at night.

 

Steve has dreamed of this three times just in the ten days since he started the conversation about Bucky’s gift with Natasha.

 

So, not only is this a thing Steve is very good at, but he’s also never wanted to do it more in his life.

 

And Bucky has no idea, not until just now.

 

“I can’t even-nngh,  _Stevie_ ,” he groans. “Oh, god, Stevie, I never-”

 

He can’t finish a sentence – he’s not sure he’ll finish a sentence ever again in his life. He’s gotten a blow job before, but a Steve blow job is on another fucking level. Steve doesn’t suck his dick, he makes love to it using his mouth, a slow deliberate slide up and down every aching inch of him, until Steve can take him all the goddamn way into his throat, holds him there, and swallows. Repeatedly. For as long as he can manage without breath.

 

Bucky sobs as though he’s dying, because honestly, he thinks he might be, and Steve takes the hint and pulls off to give him a tiny break, kissing the shaft. Breathing hard and sweating, he gasps, “I never,  _Stevie_ , I  _NEVER_  – your mouth is a fucking  _paradise_ , babydoll.”

 

Steve smiles, blinks his long golden eyelashes at him, and gently strokes him, purring “Whose cock is this, Buck?”

 

Cupping his shoulder, Bucky gently traces his thumb down the column of Steve’s throat, so white and lovely in the frame of blue silk. Looking right into those deep blue eyes, he says roughly “That cock is all yours, sweetheart.”

 

He groans again as Steve gives a hot kiss right to his frenulum, darting his tongue out for another taste. Almost shyly, Steve asks “Do you – do you wanna see the surprise underneath this?”

 

“There’s  _more_?” Bucky blurts out. “I don’t know if I’m gonna survive this night, Stevie – hell, yes, I wanna see!”

 

The image hits him all over again as Steve sits up on the mattress, the dress flouncing around his slender legs. “You need to, um, unbutton me,” he says softly, turning around to show Bucky the line of pearls going down his back.

 

He does. He does unbutton Steve.

 

But he gets a little distracted on the way.

 

“You can’t blame me,  _zvezdochka_ ,” he murmurs, biting gently at Steve’s ears. “You are just so… _so_  beautiful.”

 

“Bu-Bucky, you’re gonna spoil the surprise,” Steve gasps…but his hand drifts upwards to tangle gently with his hair, holding Bucky’s mouth to his neck. Steve allows himself to be distracted until Bucky hears a worrying catch in his breath and pulls away slightly. Breathing a bit labored, Steve whispers “Lay down, Buck. ‘m gonna open your present.”

 

“Jesus,” Bucky breathes, obedient as ever, propping himself up on the mountain of pillows to watch Steve raise up on his haunches and lifts the dress away, throwing it at Bucky’s dresser with excellent aim.

 

Stunned, he stares, jaw dropped open.

 

Steve took Natasha’s advice on shopping for undergarments. He’d debated the purchase – he hadn’t wanted to do it – but the outfit felt inadequate without it.

 

Now he straddles Bucky’s thighs, staring at his shocked face and trying not to show that he’s shaking because this is Steve, not a part that he plays to get something. He is giving Bucky the real Steve, dressed up just for him in silk and lace lingerie the color of coal.

 

It, Bucky notes, it is  _not_  lingerie for a women. That is, it’s feminine, but after hanging out with Scott, he’s learned the difference between clothing that is designed to be feminine and clothing that is designed for a  _female_.

 

The black ruffled satin stretching over Steve’s hard dick is cut with the body part in mind – made to accommodate extra bulk where a woman’s underwear wouldn’t. The bra is so sweet it makes Bucky ache, see-through scraps of dark material embroidered with tiny flowers. It doesn’t even have a proper closure in back – it was never made to house breasts of any size, but it looks made for Steve, molded perfectly to his narrow chest, the stitched flowers curving beneath his hard nipples as though presenting them for Bucky’s enjoyment.  

 

“ _Stevie_ …” Large hands skim down the not-quite-straight angle of his spine, the now familiar duality of warm rough skin and smooth cool metal against his bare skin. A sensation Steve never realized he could come to love so much. All the way down, until Bucky groans in the back of his throat as he cups that perfect ass, covered in smooth black satin, lightly squeezing and fondling, which makes Steve give a strange squeak.

 

 “Are you-?” There’s something… “Steve, do you have a toy _inside you_?”

 

“It’s a butt plug,” he chokes, flushing harder. “About-about the same size as you. I kind of assumed you wouldn’t want to wait…”

 

“Oh god, Steve,” Bucky moans “Babydoll, I’d love to, but I won’t last five seconds – I could come just  _looking_  at you.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes playfully. Soft as a whisper, he trails his fingers up and down Bucky's cock. “Unlike me, your heart is healthy enough to provide blood to your dick more than once every other day.” Shyly, he says “We don’t _have_ to.”

 

Bucky leans forward kiss him, hands slipping beneath the back of the silk panties. Steve grumbles about how slowly Bucky pulls the plug away, aching and impatient beneath the dark silk, he moves to remove the panties when Bucky stammers "Don't-don't take them off yet, _dragule_."

 

Still looking a bit apprehensive and self-conscious, Steve shifts higher on his lap and pulls the panties out of the way, Bucky holding him steady as he sinks all the down that throbbing shaft.

 

Bucky is already breathing hard, staring at the ceiling with teeth gritted tightly. Gently, Steve runs a thumb across his jaw, murmuring “Don’t hurt yourself, baby, it’s okay.”

 

Spreading his knees for a little more leverage, Steve rocks down gently, soft noises escaping him as he chews his lips.

 

Bucky’s prediction was mostly correct – while he puts real effort into stopping the process, he spills himself into Steve’s body in less than thirty seconds, groaning like a dying man. He’s absolutely mesmerized by the sight of his _dragule_ rocking in his lap, swollen nipples nestled beneath the sheer fabric of the bra, his hard cock stretching out the black satin, lips plump and shiny as he gasps out praise.

 

Leaning back, Steve shakes his head at him in disbelief, laughing at him slightly. “You’re still half hard.”

 

“You’re still completely hot,” Bucky counters, smiling blissfully at him. He gives Steve a heated stare, squeezing his thigh and licking his lips pointedly. “Show me your pretty tits, Stevie.”

 

Huffing with mock irritation and scarlet as a tomato, he slips his hand into Bucky’s hair, pulling him toward his own chest. Bucky immediately open his mouth and licks the fabric roughly, soaking the material, the rough texture of the flowers scraping against the sensitive skin. Steve lets out a loud hiss, the hand in his hair tightening, encouraging Bucky to suck harder and shifting him to the other side when he becomes too stimulated to enjoy the sensation anymore.

 

Getting fully hard again doesn’t take him long – he’s still inside Steve, who rocks up and down subconsciously, and Bucky can hear him moan and hiss and whine as he feasts on those firm pink tits. No way is he staying soft. He’s not sure he could stay soft if someone came up and stabbed him in the neck.

 

When he starts moving this time, he can tell that something is different.

 

He’s watching Steve, and Steve is watching him, when suddenly, his head tips back, hips arching into a steeper angle. The flush in his face isn’t the self-conscious blush of earlier, but a true sex-flush that reaches all the way down his belly. His thighs, which cling to either side of Bucky’s waist, become very relaxed, Steve sinking down on his dick harder.

 

His whole body is heavier, more relaxed, and Bucky realizes why when he sighs “Oh, Buck” and his blunt little fingernails dig into his chest.

 

Steve is beyond embarrassment, beyond the memory of his own shyness, the mental state where he will take his pleasure from Bucky by force.

 

“Yeah, I’m your Buck,” he whispers, thrilled and awed. Steve is never more beautiful than when he’s forgotten to criticize himself. Cupping the satin over his leaking cock, he asks “What can your Buck to do for you, Stevie?”

 

“Mmmmore, Buck,” he moans, gasping quietly as he begins riding Bucky just a little harder, clinging to Bucky’s ribs as he balances his weight. “More of you.”

 

“Of course,” he breathes reverently. “As much as you want, _zvezdochka_.” Bucky takes a slender thigh in each hand and braces himself against the mattress before fucking into Steve with hard, deep strokes.

 

“Oh, oh, oh!” He claws at Bucky’s sides, slippery with sweat. “Bucky…Bucky…”

 

“You are squeezing me _so damn tight_ ,” Bucky growls. “That’s right, sweetheart, that’s your cock – you take it just the way you want to.”

 

Steve tries to breathe evenly to avoid a sudden asthma attack – if he has to make Bucky stop right now, he might cry. He’s been turned on for hours, his mind providing the continual desire to have Bucky in his mouth, preparing himself to take the butt plug, and getting ready for him with the toy’s weight inside his body. He’s wanted Bucky for _hours_ , and his boy doesn’t disappoint him, fucking him with a relentless focus designed to bring Steve off.

 

He says, dreamy and low “ _A ghra geal…”_

 

Bucky would always remember it, hearing the first time Steve ever said it. “Ah grah geeyal?”

 

“My-my-” Steve clings to his forearms – his whole body aches, a heavy throbbing low in his belly. “-my bright love! Bucky, _please_ -!”

 

He’s leaving finger-shaped bruises on Bucky’s right forearm, and Bucky can feel how hard he trembles. “C’mon, little darling,” he hisses, rubbing Steve’s cock through the satin. The hand on his arm grips harder. “That’s it, honey, come for me.”

 

The fabric beneath his palm becomes soaked wet, Steve mewling softly as his erection finally softens. “You-you didn’t finish,” he gasps, still shaking faintly as his aching muscles unclench and force him to fall to Bucky’s chest.

 

“Mm,” he rumbles, kissing beneath Steve’s jaw.

 

Despite attempting to pretend that he isn’t, Steve is oversensitive, so Bucky slows way the hell down, and is rewarded with a sleepy smile. “My good man,” Steve murmurs thickly, bows his head to kiss Bucky’s chest, right over his heart. “My kind man. _A ghra geal_.”

 

Bucky tilts Steve’s head to the side to give him a kiss, moaning into Steve’s mouth as he finishes. “That,” he says, still kissing Steve luxuriously, “was _everything_ I wished for.”

 

Steve giggles, sounding a little drunk. “How does thirty-two feel?”

 

“Pretty fuckin’ good, _zvezdochka_ ,” he grins, moving down to his neck and shoulder. “Please keep that dress.”

 

“Well…” Steve smiles shyly. “I’ll consider it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh yes, hello, All My Kinks!


End file.
